


Five Times

by LeFay_Strent



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Trans!Virgil, analogical - Freeform, but it's not a main pairing, mentions of prinxiety, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFay_Strent/pseuds/LeFay_Strent
Summary: There were five times that Virgil’s path crossed with Logan Sanders. Each time memorable, each time helping to shape Virgil into the kind of person he wants to be.





	Five Times

There were five times that Virgil’s path crossed with Logan Sanders.

The first memorable moment had been in first grade, back when he’d had a different name and different pronouns. Logan had been an oddball of a child. He was the new kid in class, his family moving over from across the sea, and instead of that winning him ‘cool’ points, most of his classmates thought his English accent was funny and something to be mocked. None of the others really wanted to play with him, not that it seemed to affect him either way. Similarly, nobody wanted to play with Virgil, or Angel as he’d been called then. But that was because she was shy and hardly spoke a word, therefore she was boring.

One day during class, they were all coloring pictures. Angel didn’t understand why, but Logan walked up to her desk to inspect her drawing. She didn’t have anything against the boy. She never joined in with the other kids when they called him stupid names. But she never intervened either, and Angel wondered briefly if Logan was upset about that and wanted to tear up her picture in revenge.

Blue eyes gauged the paper in a serious manner, and it reminded Angel of when her dad was talking about adult stuff to other adults. Logan had that older look about him, despite his scrawny size.

At length, Logan set down a crayon on her desk. “Here. Purple’s your color.”

Then he walked away with no explanation.

* * *

They never spoke to each other for years after that, though Angel would always remember it as a curious thing. The next time their paths crossed was the summer before ninth grade.

Angel had always felt out of place, whether it was at school or with her personality and body. It was a time when she still didn’t know who she was, much less what to do about it. And then she met her best friend, a girl named Jeanne. She was one of the popular girls and had seen how timid Angel was and took her under her wing some time ago. She was seen as the all-around ‘nice’ girl who everyone liked, and Angel was proud to claim that they were best friends.

In the middle of June that summer, Jeanne had a party at her house. Problem was, her parents weren’t home.

“I thought you said Valerie and Dahlia were gonna be here,” Angel whispered to her shortly after arriving.

“They are,” Jeanne laughed. “There’s just a few more people here too.”

A few more turned out to be over twenty teenagers, many of them who Angel knew but hardly spoke to. Jeanne’s family had a beautiful large house, the kind that everyone recognized and all the kids talked about having something similar when they grew up. It was able to fit all the guests, but it was still crowded and made Angel nervous. She had told her dad that she was only hanging out with a few of her girl friends. If he found out about this . . .

Jeanne tried to convince her to lighten up, to get excited. All Angel felt was resigned. She couldn’t leave because then Jeanne would think she was lame. It didn’t stop her from wishing she was home though, especially when the longer the party went on, the more Angel realized that Jeanne’s parents didn’t even know that the party was happening.

There was loud music and games, and at some point Jeanne got some of her parent’s alcohol out. Everyone wanted to try some and pretend to be adults, and the one time Angel attempted to whisper to Jeanne about them being underage, she brushed her off.

“We’re about to be high schoolers. We should start acting like it.”

If this was what it meant to be a high schooler, Angel wanted to stay in junior high forever. And yet, there was a part of her that questioned if she was being too sensitive. Jeanne was just helping her overcome her own shy, boringness. And Angel didn’t want to be shy and boring for forever.

So that’s how Angel found herself playing a game of spin the bottle. When the bottle landed on someone, the two chosen players went to the closet to have seven minutes in Heaven, apparently.

What surprised Angel was not so much her own willingness to participate in such a game. That paled in comparison to seeing Logan Sanders of all people there. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who went to parties. He was still the weird kid, and Angel wasn’t sure how many friends he actually had, but there were more people amused by him now.

“What I’m saying is that everyone has their own perspective of what Heaven is. It’s different for everyone.”

“What does that even mean, Logan?”

“It means that someone’s Heaven could consist entirely of jelly. What if I wanted seven minutes in jelly Heaven?”

Everyone in the circle cracked up. The only people who weren’t laughing were Logan and Angel. Angel was merely watching. Meanwhile, Logan looked strangely invested.

“Whatever, Logan,” someone said, a guy from their baseball team. “Just spin the bottle.”

Logan gave up his debate and spun the bottle. When it landed, there were whoops and hollers, and the next thing Angel knew, she was in a dark closet with Logan Sanders.

“It’s dark in here,” Logan said needlessly.

“That it is,” Angel agreed. She could hear the party go on outside their little space. Barely a foot in front of her stood Logan, nearly a head taller than her. Not that she could see him. She could certainly feel his presence and hear his breath, and her heart should be racing at the thought of what they were supposed to do, so why did she feel so calm?

“Do you like jelly?” he asked.

“Uh . . . yeah. I like it on toast.”

“So a heaven filled with jelly wouldn’t be too much to ask, would it?”

“I don’t have any jelly on me.”

“That’s okay, I forgive you,” Logan said, and she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Maybe this was why she felt calm. The people outside that door were expecting them to do obscene things like regular teens would, but Logan had never been a regular teen.

They ended up sitting on the floor squished together. They talked about random things like jelly heaven, and Angel never questioned it. Likewise, Logan appeared to appreciate her never questioning the topics and allowing the conversation to flow unimpeded. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Logan once you accepted his odd trains of thought.

Inevitably, Angel asked why Logan had come to the party.

“You’re friends with Jeanne,” he stated, and for a second she thought he meant that Angel had something to do with him being there.

“Yeah?”

“You know her cousin, Roman.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s friends with my brothers. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“It’s complicated. Baguettes aren’t really that useful in a sword fight.”

“I see,” she said, though she really didn’t.    

Angel would never get to hear the full explanation. She’d later assume that Roman had something to do with Logan being at the party that day, but as it was at that moment, Jeanne’s parents returned home early.

And boy were they pissed. They killed the music and Logan and Angel could hear Jeanne’s mother’s voice, shrill with anger, chewing her out. All the kids were kicked out, and Angel and Logan sat quietly wondering if the seven-minutes-rule still applied or if they could leave. They sat there awkwardly until the door opened. It was Jeanne’s dad and they nearly gave him a heart attack.

Jeanne’s parents knew Angel, and even though she hadn’t even been doing anything with Logan, they still called her dad and told him everything. After that, Angel was grounded and wasn’t allowed to hang out with Jeanne anymore.

* * *

High school came and with it came changes.

Angel became Virgil. Same anxious, confused mess true, but a mess that strived to feel more comfortable in its own skin.

Virgil made new friends. He stopped agonizing over how a girl was supposed to act and look. He allowed himself to enjoy the fact that guys were easier to connect with.

As for his best friend, he and Jeanne didn’t speak anymore. It wasn’t as big of a loss as Virgil first thought it would be. Virgil had admired Jeanne’s popularity and kindness for a long time, but Virgil deserved friends who wouldn’t force him out of his comfort zone, and Virgil felt all the more confident in his decision to stay away from Jeanne after seeing how fake she became in high school.

Years went by and Virgil didn’t see much of Logan Sanders. They were in different classes, and when the students weren’t in class, Virgil was hanging out with his friends. There was Patton, sweet and sometimes naïve and Virgil’s go-to person for when he felt overwhelmed. Then there was Roman and Dee, his gaming buddies. Emile was a chill guy and they mostly talked about tv shows of similar interest. Remy, Emile’s boyfriend, ran a ‘black magic’ club that Virgil was a part of, but they pretty much just played Dungeons & Dragons the whole time.

The third time Virgil had anything to do with Logan Sanders was during their Junior year. It was winter and apparently raining literal buckets, according to Logan.

“I guess it’s true when they say humans don’t look up enough. I should have looked up,” he said, plucking at his drenched shirt morosely.

Virgil had found him on his way to the gym for PE class. Logan had been sitting outside by himself on an out-of-the-way bench. Virgil almost didn’t stop but he’d seen the pinched look to Logan’s face and how he was sitting out in the cold in a wet t-shirt.

“You said Roman did this to you?” Virgil asked, confused. Why would Roman target Logan Sanders of all people? They never had anything to do with each other. Roman practically lived in the drama clubroom, and Logan stuck to quiz bowl type groups.

Logan shrugged. “Not on purpose. He’s in a prank war with Joan. You know Joan? Yeah, I tripped the bucket that was meant for them. My fault for not looking up.”

Virgil heaved a huge sigh. Now that sounded more like Roman. Idiot.

Speaking of idiots . . .

“Why are you just sitting out here then? You’ll freeze like this.”

“Probably for the best,” Logan said, nodding as if he’d always known it would come to this. “I didn’t have another shirt, and I can’t go to class like this. So I’ll just sit here.”

“Don’t be stupid. Come on, get up.”

“What?”

“I _said_ get up,” Virgil ordered, waving his hands for the other to follow him. Realistically, he should have considered the fact that he and Logan weren’t friends and he was under no obligation to listen to him. He could have snapped at Virgil and would probably be justified, except the fact that he was literally freezing out here, but he didn’t even seem to register that fact.

“Why?” Logan asked. It didn’t sound like he opposed getting up, just that he wanted a good enough reason to. God, Virgil knew he was weird, but was he really this stupid too?

“Because you’ll freeze like this. Honestly, you could have asked a teacher or something for help.”

Logan glanced down at his shoes. He rubbed them in the dead grass back and forth. “I didn’t want to bother anybody.”

It occurred to Virgil then that Logan might not only be weird but socially anxious as well. Actually, that might explain why he was so weird or awkward in social situations. Maybe he had anxiety issues.

Virgil revaluated him, taking an extra minute to really look at Logan. Did he not have any friends he was comfortable enough with to seek help from? If that was the case, there was only one thing left to do.

“Here,” Virgil said, shrugging off his hoodie and offering it to him. Virgil had owned the thing for years, loving how it swallowed his figure with its bagginess, like a protective blanket. Virgil felt exposed without it on, but he couldn’t just walk away either. “You can go take your shirt off and put this on. If you zip it up, no one will notice you’re not wearing a shirt underneath.”

Logan blinked at the offered hoodie. He tilted his head slightly. “You want me to strip right here?”

If Virgil were more easily embarrassed, He would have blushed (because he didn’t doubt for a second that Logan was crazy enough to follow through on that). As it was, Virgil was more exasperated than anything. “No, I meant that you could take this to the bathroom and change.”

Logan nodded, accepting his explanation but not the hoodie. “I don’t want to touch it at the moment. I’m all sticky.”

“Uh . . . what?”

“I’m sticky.”

“Yeah, I heard that. I meant why?”

“Roman filled the bucket up with Kool-Aid. It was strawberry flavored.”

Who knew why it was important to Logan to specify the flavor, but that might explain the red tint to Logan’s skin. And here Virgil just thought it was the cold.

“Of course Roman filled it with Kool-Aid,” Virgil said, shaking his head. He gestured for Logan to follow him again. “Whatever. You can just go to the bathroom and wash off the best you can then before you put it on.”

Logan obeyed this time. Virgil stood outside the men’s bathroom while Logan cleaned himself up. Nobody stopped to question why Virgil was standing there in the hallway doing nothing while classes were in session. More than likely, the staff were mixed up in dealing with Roman and Joan and the mess of Kool-Aid. Virgil would bet money that Logan had walked off after getting the bucket dumped on him, otherwise a teacher wouldn’t have let his wet-self go sit outside in the cold. Or maybe he’d stayed long enough for the principal to show up and while the pranksters were getting chewed out, Logan slipped away to avoid the confrontation.

Virgil glanced at the closed bathroom door and checked the time on his phone.

At this rate, he’d be marked absent in PE.

He remained by the door, waiting for as long as it took.

After more time than what was probably needed, Logan came out looking far more dry and wearing Virgil’s hoodie. It was simple and black, not at all distinguishable as Virgil’s. That meant none of his friends would be able to tell he had leant it, though truthfully Virgil wasn’t ashamed of being associated with Logan. As far as Virgil knew, he was an okay guy.

“Thanks. This feels better,” Logan told him.

Virgil looked him over, spotted what was missing, and asked where he had put his shirt.

“Oh, that? I threw it in the trash.”

“But . . . that was your shirt.”

He shrugged. “It was wet and sticky and I didn’t want to carry it around. Besides, it’s not like it’s a family heirloom or anything. I can get another shirt.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” But he wasn’t exactly right either.

He plucked at the dark material, looking vaguely unsure. “Want me to give you back your jacket before the end of school?”

Virgil waved him off. “Nah. I’m not gonna make you go home shirtless. Just get it back to me tomorrow.”

“Technically, I’m shirtless right now.”

“Technically, you know what I meant, so shut up.”

“Only technically,” Logan agreed. But he nodded and for the first time, Virgil saw a little smile light up his face.

Virgil looked around himself, figured this was where they parted ways, and said, “We should probably get to class.”

Logan looked around as if just noticing that education was going on around them. “We’ve already missed the first fifteen minutes of class. We might as well miss the rest.”

What kind of logic was that?

Virgil raised a brow. “Are you suggesting that we skip?”

“Not suggesting. Actively doing.”

Virgil snorted. “Alright. But if we just stay in the hallway, someone’s gonna notice.”

Logan considered for a moment, glancing down the hall. “Want to go to the band room? No one should be in there at this time.”

Virgil didn’t question how he knew this, nor did he feel uncomfortable at following Logan to some secluded place in the school. If he had survived seven minutes in heaven with him, Virgil would be fine here too.

“Lead the way.”

The next morning when Virgil arrived to first period, he found his hoodie neatly folded on his desk. In one of the pockets he found a doodle of a bee.

Curiously, the jacket’s material had a smoky aroma to it. Virgil didn’t recognize it as cigarettes. It was something cleaner and more appealing, not unlike incense or sage. Over the next few days, as the smell faded bit by bit and was replaced again with his own, Virgil wondered at the boy he had lent it to and thought many times to approach him. Virgil could use the excuse of returning his doodle, but he kept rethinking that plan. For one, he didn’t know if it was left intentionally or not. And for another . . . he’d grown rather fond of using it as a bookmark. He was hard-pressed to let it go now.

An opportunity never seemed to come, or so Virgil told himself, and the days turned into weeks and then some. Occasionally, he remembered their time skipping class together, the minutes spent talking about things that did and didn’t matter, as well as things they couldn’t understand at all. Virgil could recall the distinct feeling of what resonated between them, as if they were flowing down a river with no end in sight, but that was alright because the current was a gentle one.

It wouldn’t matter if his friends thought him strange for suddenly wanting to hang out with Logan Sanders. They probably would have gotten on with him too, in time.

But Logan never approached Virgil either. Virgil would think about that too sometimes, if the reasons that held Logan back were similar to his own. Because it’s just easier to say, “I’ll try tomorrow, definitely,” until it becomes a lie. And then, eventually, it becomes nothing at all, because there’s more to life and distractions are plentiful.

* * *

Virgil completed his high school education and kept on with school. He and his friends were accepted into the best college in the state and it was only natural that when they moved away from home, they all moved in together. They rented a three bedroom townhouse, with Virgil and Patton rooming together (because Dee’s sanity depended on having a safe space of his own and all of them needed a safe space from Roman). The four of them were incredibly different, having varying interests, areas of study, goals for the future, but they made it work.

For years, Virgil forgot about Logan Sanders. He had his college education, his friends, work, a few relationships here and there. The most surprising relationship was between him and Roman. It happened rather suddenly, one night of tension snapping and spanning into other nights. They were exhilarating, pleasurable, but neither knew what they really wanted outside of that and they were left in a limbo that didn’t specify what they were to each other.

And yeah, it made Virgil the fool for putting off confronting things, like he’d done many times just because it was easier. He let things be until he couldn’t run away from the consequences. It’s not like you can ignore life growing inside of you, and there’re only so many positive pregnancy tests you can get before denial can’t protect you anymore.

But Roman . . .

He wouldn’t accept it.

“We can’t be parents. Can’t you just, I don’t know, _do_ something about it?”

This didn’t fit in with Roman’s plans, and it wasn’t as if they were really together, was it?

So Virgil did do something about it. He packed his stuff and went back home to his dad. The most humiliating part of it all was the look his dad gave Virgil. It would have been better if he’d given him the whole, “I knew this would happen,” argument. Instead, his dad simply supported him in his time of need, hugging him and telling him, “I’m here for you, kiddo.”

Virgil didn’t want that. He wanted a fight, to let out all of the pent-up frustration. He wanted to scream, because how could Roman suggest giving up their child, or worse, _killing_ it? How dare he?

But more than that . . . how dare Virgil? How could he have been so careless?

And that’s how he came to be sitting at a bar in his hometown. An untouched margarita sat on the polished wood before him. Part of him hoped the bartender would sense he shouldn’t drink alcohol. Then he could yell at Virgil. Tell him what a disappointment he was. At least then he’d be listening to someone else say it rather than listen to the voice repeating it inside his own head. He wanted to guzzle the drink down, confirm what a horrible person he was by tainting what was inside of him.

“You look like you really don’t want to drink that,” a man said from the barstool beside him.

Virgil shook his head, peering down at the liquid. “No, I’m just . . . getting warmed up for it.”

“Like the artist who does warm-up sketches to put off the true painting?”

“Sure . . .”

“You know, sometimes the warm-ups turn out to be more beautiful than the original intention.”

Was he implying something here? Did someone finally sense that Virgil shouldn’t be here and was admonishing him? He had wanted that, but now it angered him.

Images of Roman’s face flashed in his mind, the strained look he wore when Virgil had gathered the courage to tell him. The gleam of disbelief in his eyes right before it was squashed by unrelenting rejection.

“I’m just twenty-one,” Roman had said, as if Virgil wasn’t too. They were both too young, too in-over-their-heads. But only one of them had the luxury of withdrawing, to not deal with it and favor childish simplicity instead. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, _do_ something about it?”

As if it could be swept under the rug and forgotten.

And in this moment at the bar, just like he had back then with Roman, Virgil turned and asked coldly, “What do you mean?”

Blue eyes stared back at him, much sharper and calmer than Roman’s brown hues ever were.

The other shrugged. “Technically, I was only making an observation on art processes.”

Virgil blinked, his ire sizzling out as he stared hard at the lanky man sitting beside him. He felt like he was missing something important. “Technically?”

“Only technically,” he agreed, nodding, but it was only when he gave a small half-smile that Virgil recognized him.

“Logan?” he asked, not hiding his shock.

“Virgil,” he returned, greeting him naturally like they met up at the bar often.

Of all people, Logan Sanders had found him and was sitting beside him. He honestly hadn’t changed much in neither appearance nor personality. Did Logan think the same about him, or did he look different?

“What are you doing here?” Virgil asked.

Logan jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “My brothers. We come here occasionally.”

Virgil glanced behind them at a table towards the wall where similar looking men sat. All three heads at the table ducked as they found something else to stare at. It was odd, to remember that Logan had brothers but to have thought he would never meet them.

Then again, Virgil didn’t think he would meet Logan Sanders ever again.

“What are you doing here?” Logan repeated Virgil’s question.

He couldn’t help to be defensive. “Why do you want to know?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed minimally, a small sign to show that he’d noticed and was curious. “Fair is fair.”

He wasn’t wrong. He’d answered Virgil first. Wouldn’t he be an ass for refusing to answer him too?

Virgil wanted to be an ass tonight. He wanted to tell people to fuck off and leave him alone.

But this was Logan Sanders and Virgil still used his bee doodle as a bookmark to this day. Something about it all made it impossible to project his anger onto him. In the end, he felt put-out and sulky.

“I don’t know what I’m really doing here,” he admitted. His fingernail grazed lightly down the stem of his glass, his full glass that he knew from the beginning that he wouldn’t really drink. “I guess I just wanted to get away for a while.”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.” Upon receiving an incredulous look from Virgil, he amended, “I meant coming to a bar to get away. If you really want to get away, you should go somewhere with no people. Like a deserted island.”

Virgil snorted, and once he saw how Logan maintained his serious expression and realized he wasn’t joking, he surprised both of them by laughing.

“Are deserted islands really that funny?” Logan asked, genuinely confused.

“No, it’s just that most people can’t really afford to run away to a deserted island.”

“I’m not disputing that. Ideally, that would be the case. But like you said, most people can’t achieve the ideal. So we content ourselves with as close as we can get, or the illusion of it anyway.”

Virgil gazed at him and recalled the feeling of being swept along by a gentle current. It was so refreshing that he asked, “Where do you go then? When you want to get away?”

Logan stood from the barstool. “I could show you if you want.”

Virgil dropped some cash down by his drink to pay his tab and let Logan lead him out of the bar. His brothers watched them go with questioning looks, no doubt wondering where they were going. Virgil wondered where they were going too, and he wanted to voice the question aloud.

But in a weird, undefinable way, he trusted Logan Sanders.

They walked together down poorly lit streets, neither one of them speaking. Occasionally, their arms would brush and the feeling was a comforting one. Along the way, Virgil imagined that Logan would take them back to their old high school and to an empty band room again. Did he remember that afternoon? Did he think back on it fondly?

Did he ever regret not saying anything the next day?

They eventually stopped at an apartment complex. Logan apparently lived there.

“You brought me home?” Virgil asked, more amused that he had actually brought him home than mad about any implications that might have entailed. This was Logan Sanders after all. When playing a game of seven minutes in heaven, he would sit on the floor of a closet talking about jelly rather than make-out.

“You did ask me where I went to get away,” he said. They stood shoulder to shoulder, both of them looking up at the building, pondering it. “It’s a place that’s changed over the years, but ever since I moved out from my family’s home, my apartment is my safe haven because it’s just me here. I don’t have to worry about how people see me.”

Then he welcomed Virgil inside. It was a cramped, one-bedroom apartment with a lot of clashing furniture and decorations. Parts of it would be incredibly minimalistic while others were filled with clutter. Virgil examined the tapestry in the living room, a design of a tree with swirling branches in shades of gold, black, and red. Logan told him it was the tree of life, a design derived from a historic royal palace. From peeking at the overflowing bookshelves, Logan had a large interest in history and mythology.

They made their way to the bedroom and found themselves laying on the bed. Both of them stretched out on their backs, staring up at the ceiling as if there were stars there.

For hours they talked. Logan contributed the most to the conversation. He had a lot of thoughts built up, plenty of things to say now that he had someone to listen. And Virgil, he appreciated having something new to think about. He didn’t mind listening to a different point of view. In fact, he wanted to hear what Logan had to say about one matter in particular.

“Logan, you know how you said you like being here because you don’t have to worry about how people see you?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“What about how you see yourself?”

Logan was quiet for a time. For several minutes, Virgil could only sense his even breathing. He wanted to turn his head, to see if those blue eyes were closed and if he had fallen asleep. But Virgil’s eyes were fixated on the popcorn ceiling. His own breath quieted as much as possible, too afraid to miss the answer.

“You have to live with yourself,” Logan said at length. “You don’t have to live with anyone else, but you do have to live with yourself.”

You just have to deal with it. That’s what he was getting at.

It wasn’t that reassuring or alarming. It was simply a fact, what was to be expected.

They fell asleep like that. The next morning, Virgil woke before Logan. He had curled up into Virgil’s side, not exactly on him but more pressing against him, his face nuzzled into his shoulder. He frowned in his sleep, like he dreamt of puzzles with missing pieces that wouldn’t let him fully rest.

Virgil left a note for him before he let himself out. He was grateful to Logan, but there were things that he needed to do.

He had to live with himself. But it was up to him whether or not he was the kind of person he liked to live with. And right now, he wasn’t.

But he would be.

* * *

It was a hard journey, accepting himself and what had happened and—most importantly—how to deal with the aftermath. His father had given him time to work the stress out. He grieved for friends he thought he could trust. He shook in fear at this new unstable future. And although it hurt, he picked himself up and forged ahead, if not for himself than for his child.

The first thing Virgil did was transfer to a closer university. If he was to keep the baby, he’d need to swallow his pride and accept all the support his dad offered. It would be more practical living here, allowing him to raise his child in a good environment while also continuing his education.

The second thing Virgil decided was to cut ties from his friends. They were Roman’s friends too, and with how Virgil left with no explanation to the others, Roman had probably given them his side of the story without any consideration for him. They were probably on Roman’s side, and with his words still flashing through Virgil’s mind from that day, Virgil wouldn’t allow himself to be hurt like that again.

As could be expected, his friends tried calling him a lot. Roman did too. Whatever his reasons, Virgil couldn’t care less and blocked his number in vindictive satisfaction. If he wanted to make amends and actually be there for the baby, then he could put in the effort to come see Virgil in person. It’s not like Roman didn’t know where he had gone.

Surprisingly enough, someone did put in the effort to come check on him, but it sure as hell wasn’t Roman. It was early June and Virgil was six months pregnant when he opened the front door to find Dee. Of all his friends, he would have thought Patton or even Emile would be the one to come around, not Dee. He stood there uncomfortably, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed in his pants’ pockets. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Virgil’s round stomach.

“It’s Roman’s, isn’t it?” he blurted.

Virgil was so shocked that all he could do was stand there with his mouth open, struggling to say something. Dee seemed mildly alarmed, though whether that was at himself or seeing Virgil pregnant, he couldn’t tell. He averted his gaze to a bush beside him. His ears reddened.

“Sorry,” Dee said. “It’s just—well, I guess it all makes sense.”

“What?” Virgil asked, finally finding his voice.

“Why you and Roman got into that big fight. Why you left. He said you were ditching us, but it’s his, isn’t it?”

Virgil should have expected things to go like that, for Roman to leave out the problem altogether and blame Virgil. If Roman just ignored the existence of a baby he helped create, he wouldn’t have to worry about it, right? And if he didn’t tell their friends about it, then it was like it didn’t even exist.

And here Dee was on his doorstep, telling him that Roman had made him out to be the bad guy. Because if Roman couldn’t be the hero, he’d make do with being a victim.

It pissed Virgil off.

“What are you doing here?” he asked through gritted teeth. If not to tear the scab off of a wound that hadn’t fully healed, had Dee come for curiosity’s sake?

Dee fidgeted, crossing his arms and grumbling, “You didn’t come back, and you didn’t answer any of my texts or calls. It wasn’t like I was worried or anything.”

Just like _that_ the anger dissipated and Virgil was crying. It caught him off guard, the swell of emotion, but not as much as it did Dee. His eyes were wide as saucers and he held his hands up as if to ward off the tears. He started stammering in a frantic rush.

“I was only stopping by to check on you. But if it upsets you that much, I’ll just go—”

Dee tried to turn to leave, but Virgil caught him by the wrist and pulled him in for a hug. Neither of them had been outwardly affectionate people, and the hug was made even more awkward by Virgil’s pregnant belly and the fact that he was crying all over Dee. He squirmed, freaking out.

“Do you want me to leave or stay? Which is it?!” he yelled in distress.

“Stay,” Virgil croaked out.

He had decided to cut off ties from his friends, but Dee had done what even Roman couldn’t be bothered to. He showed Virgil that he cared about him, and that was all he had wanted. That’s all he had wanted from Roman, to see some sign that he . . .

But he wasn’t going to show up. Somewhere deep in his heart, Virgil had hoped he would. Unconsciously, he’d been waiting for him.

It seemed he still had a ways to go.

Following that day, Virgil’s resolve deepened. Dee stayed for a while, and they talked things out and caught up. He’d been skeptical of Roman's excuses, and his behavior as of late had become unbearably obnoxious. Dee moved out at the end of the Spring semester and now lived with his older sister just one town over. He’d be finishing out his education at a college there.

Virgil let Dee back into his life and found how much he had missed having friends. Since moving back in with his dad, any old friends from his high school days that he happened to run into didn’t get much past the, “Hey, how’ve you been?” pleasantries. That or gossiping about his pregnancy and getting his pronouns wrong.

There’d been Logan Sanders too, of course. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, but Virgil knew where he lived. He could have swung by his apartment at any time. Logan wouldn’t have turned him away, Virgil knew that. And he would have liked to talk to Logan, just like last time, and hear the calm tone of his voice as he enlightened Virgil with his eccentric considerations and pragmatic perspective.

What stopped Virgil was the note he had left him.

_‘I want to be the kind of person I want to live with.’_

You had to live with yourself. That was the lesson that Logan taught him.

And if he couldn’t be happy with himself, he would at least find contentment somewhere. He burned the notion into his head: the next time he saw Logan, he would have it all sorted out.

* * *

Months became years. Virgil gave birth to a baby boy and juggled family, friends, and college. After graduating, he convinced Dee to give living together another shot. They worked well together, and his son was already learning to call him uncle. Dee would play it off with a frown, but secretly Virgil knew that it warmed him.

One day, not long after his son’s fourth birthday, Virgil picked him up from school. Almost immediately after getting in the car, the child dozed off in the backseat. Virgil smiled at that, peeking glances at his little boy in the rearview mirror.

On the way, Virgil spotted a car pulled over on the side of the road. A man stood towards the back, looking over where one of the tires had blown out.

He almost didn’t stop. It wasn’t his problem, and if the guy couldn’t figure out how to change a tire, then he could call for someone to help him, right?

But the way his head hung low, and his shoulders hunched high, like he’d given up . . .

Maybe Virgil was reading too much into things, applying sentimental crap where he shouldn’t, but the point was that Virgil’s heart clenched and his foot eased on the brake pedal. He pulled over, a bit ahead of the man’s car.

He got out, closing his door as quietly as he could. Virgil wasn’t nervous about approaching the stranger. Okay, he was always nervous, but it was daylight, and the road wasn’t exactly abandoned. Plenty of vehicles came through this neighborhood. How many had passed though while the man had been stranded here? How many had labeled him as someone else’s problem?

Stupid bystander effect.

Virgil’s shoes clopped down the shoulder of the road. The man of course had noticed him pull over and watched him the whole walk over with a curious expression. He was tall, lanky as ever, hair brushed back and prickly cheeks in need of a shave, but Virgil recognized him right away.

“Logan?” he asked, hardly believing his luck.

Logan leaned back slightly, blinking at him like he had seen a ghost.

Virgil worried for a moment. “You . . . remember me, right?”

He looked him over and nodded slowly. “Virgil.”

Virgil managed a relieved smile. “Small world, eh?”

He shrugged. “We live in the same town. We were bound to run into each other sooner or later.”

Always so literal. Virgil shook his head and crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder into the side of his car. “Actually, I don’t live here anymore. I live over in Arcadia now. We were just on our way to go visit my dad.”

Logan tilted his head. “We?”

Virgil recalled that night Logan had invited him back to his apartment. He’d been pregnant with a boat load of problems weighing him down, and he’d held back from telling Logan about any one of them specifically.

Virgil glanced back over his shoulder. Suddenly he felt like being more open with him.

“C’mere,” Virgil said, waving him forward. “I want to show you something.”

It was a surreal experience, seeing Logan again after so many years and finding him here of all places. It was strange, sensing him trailing behind him, inquisitive as ever. Virgil stopped by the window, and they both looked in to see the sleeping face.

Before Logan could question him, he answered, “His name’s Thomas.”

There was a long silence where Virgil let the implication sink in. He watched the slight reflection of Logan’s face in the glass, the way his brows were furrowed deep in thought.

“I always thought that you would be a parent,” he confessed randomly. Virgil could have pointed out that lots of people were parents and that it wasn’t an unlikely hypothesis for him to have about Virgil, but it was the fact that Logan must have thought about this subject at length during some point of knowing him, and it tickled Virgil in a peculiar way. He laughed. Logan just looked at him questioningly.

“You know, I always planned to come by and see you again,” Virgil admitted. If Logan was confessing random thoughts, he might as well too. “I really wanted to.”

Logan shifted his stance. Virgil would say that he looked uncomfortable, but it was more like he never expected Virgil to say something like that and simply didn’t know what to do with the information. He settled for the obvious, logical approach. “Why didn’t you?”

Virgil stared out at the passing cars, up at the cloud covered sky. A chill wind picked up and brushed his bangs against his face, reminding him that winter was around the corner.

“Because I wanted to be a different person when we met. A _better_ person. Someone who had a handle on his life. Someone I could be proud of.”

“And do you?” he asked, his eyes boring into Virgil’s. “Do you have a handle on your life now?”

It wasn’t an easy thing to answer, but if nothing else, Virgil had always been honest to him. “Sometimes I think so.”

Logan’s hands were hidden in the pockets of his jacket. It struck Virgil how much older he looked, and he wondered if he saw Virgil the same way or if he had aged by his view.

“We don’t ever have control of our lives. Not really,” Logan said. “You wanted to wait to see me until you were a different person? If that were possible, I’d say that was incredibly . . . sad.”

Virgil’s stomach plummeted for a brief moment at the thought that Logan—Logan Sanders—would make fun of his efforts.

He must have seen the hurt on Virgil’s face. One of his hands reached out, to touch his face or shoulder or something, but he was an awkward kind of person, like Dee, and so he lowered that hand again.

“I don’t know why you would want that.” His voice was soft, frustration edging along the lines of his words.

Virgil’s nails dug into his palms. “You don’t have to know. I don’t need yours or anyone else’s approval. If I want to change, that’s my choice.”

“You’re upset,” Logan pointed out needlessly. He shook his head. “You misunderstand. I meant if you were a different person, then you’d be gone, and that would be sad. I like who you are.”

“Oh.”

So he hadn’t been insulting him. He was still just really bad at socializing.

Virgil scratched his cheek, embarrassed. “Well then, what was all that about people not having control over their lives? You made it sound like the work I put in to better myself was pointless.”

“Not pointless. You can’t become someone else. You can only be a better you.”

“That’s what I guess I was going for then. I understand that.”

“Do you really believe then that you have a lot of choice in life?”

They were doing it again, like they tended to do. Diving in deep headfirst and getting lost in the stream of conversation.

Virgil scuffed his shoes against the asphalt, mulling over his question. “I didn’t peg you for the ‘fate believer’ type.”

“I’m not. I think people have a degree of control over where they end up. But sometimes, no matter how prepared you are . . .”

“Shit just happens?”

His lips twitched up. “I was going to say that things beyond our control interfere, but yes, your way of saying it sums it up too.”

“Things like a tire blowing out?” Virgil asked, gesturing to Logan’s crippled car.

“Among other things,” he agreed. There was more to it lingering underneath that statement. How had his life been since Virgil last saw him?

“You know how to change a tire?” he asked. If he didn’t, Virgil could offer to do it for him and that would give him a chance to talk more with him. It wouldn’t take too long, and Thomas would nap the whole time anyway.

Logan shook his head. “In theory, but I lack the tools to do so. My brother is on his way. He should be here in a few minutes.”

Guess that plan was out the window then. Virgil struggled to think of something else, a segue back into the topic he wanted. If there was something going on with Logan, he would like to help him.

“Virgil,” he spoke, breaking him from his fumbling thoughts. “I like to be in control of myself.”

“. . . yeah?”

“But as I’ve said, I don’t think we truly have control over our lives.”

“To some degree.”

“To some degree, technically, but all the same, when it comes down to it, shit just happens, as you said.”

“Right.”

“And I think that . . .” Logan paused, tapping a finger to his lips as he came to his conclusion. “I think that’s one of the hardest things a person must accept.”

Virgil thought on it long and hard, trying to see what he was getting at. In the end, Virgil nudged his shoulder with his. “It doesn’t mean that good things don’t happen that’s out of our control. Just look at Thomas. I thought my life was over when I got pregnant with him. I thought I lost pretty much everything. And I used to be so . . . angry . . . about it.”

There were times when he didn’t think he could make it through, when the safer corners of his mind reached out to him and told him to give it all up. If Roman could throw away responsibility, then so could Virgil. It was his life to do with as he pleased.

But it wouldn’t have been a very proud life, one that he could live with himself in, and that made all the difference.

“But when life throws you a curveball, you throw it right back.” Virgil smiled at Logan’s expression. “It’s something my dad says. It’s lame, but he’s kinda right. Things used to suck, but I’m glad I pushed through. I love Thomas and I love being a parent.”

“What if the metaphorical ball hits you hard?” Logan asked seriously.

Virgil leaned forward and smiled wider. “Then throw the ball back even harder.”

A truck pulled up behind Logan’s car and a tall red-headed man stepped out. He exchanged greetings with them, and though he put on a polite enough face for Virgil’s sake, he could tell that he was put out by his little brother.

As he dutifully left to change the car tire, the two of them watching him go as they stood side by side, Logan whispered to him, “I think he’s annoyed with me.”

“He still came,” Virgil pointed out. “That’s the important part.”

Logan eased at that. He turned to face Virgil fully, hands back in their pockets. “Thank you for stopping, but I don’t want to hold you up. I know you had somewhere to go.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Virgil said, though he did glance at Thomas’s sleeping face and consider that they should be heading on soon. “And it’s not like I actually helped.”

“You helped,” Logan denied firmly, meaning something entirely different.

For a few seconds, the atmosphere between them grew heavy. Lots of things were unspoken between them, lots of chances lay ready for the taking. But Logan’s shoulders weren’t hunched anymore and his eyes were brighter than ever.

“I guess I’ll be going then,” Virgil said, moving to take his leave.

Logan nodded, backing away slowly as he watched Virgil round the car to the driver’s side. His hand grazed the handle. It’d be easy to pull it open and forget about the niggling in the back of his mind. To hop in and not look back.

He looked back at Logan. He was still watching him, as if he’d been ready for Virgil to call back to him.

“Hey Logan?” he called.

“Yes?”

Virgil bit his lip, gaze searching him in an effort to etch the memory into permanence. Logan waited for him, patient as always.

“Back in first grade,” he started, “the first time you spoke to me, you told me that my color was purple. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” he said, surprising Virgil that he would remember that long-ago, seemingly unimportant experience.

“What did you mean by that?”

Logan stared into the middle distance, head gradually moving from left to right. “I have no idea.”

Virgil opened the door and slid inside. All the way to his dad’s house, he had to stifle his laughter.


End file.
